Erich Listening Raven Ruehs

It’s always been about the storytelling. This passion came from my Native side as well as my Euro-American side. Two seemingly different perspectives aligning through the same desire to pay homage to those who still walk amongst us although undetectable to the eye.   

Oral histories are informal but exacting. Documented history without a written text is still history and, in some cases, more accurate than the written word. A well-spoken oral history session is a classroom. It is theatrical.

Often, I was considered too Native by the whites, and too white by many Natives. That was a blessing. In order to “win over” either side, I had to not only listen, but assimilate. When you’re a child, often assimilation is a motivation. At times, a means keeping safe physically and emotionally.  

If fortunate, a person walking an enlightened path will eventually awake with a sense of self-actualization. Then the primary focus will no longer be on group identity. Rather, it’s about being an individual first while not forgetting your roots. This takes place when you have good teachers and spiritual guides. And they can show up on either “side” and in all forms. The all-encompassing web of life is far too complex to exist as just a single strand.  

As a young actor in New York City in the late 90’s I was unimpressed with the books for actors featuring “monologues for auditions.” These monologues may have been well written, but that does not always make for a connection. I was dancing to somebody else’s drum beat. It’s not that they were bad musicians, I just didn’t feel the rhythm.   

Frustrated at the lack of connection, I took pencil to paper and wrote my own stories in the form of monologues. There was no concern for what others were looking for.

Hence forward, auditions became a consistent gateway to roles. There was often a great anger in my “characters” and moments of comedy when a seemingly unplanned pause sparked a spontaneous reflection. In a particular monologue, one of my characters spoke of a very detailed physical confrontation involving three persons assaulting a younger man.

Bleeding from the left ear, and with a face swollen and unrecognizable, the younger man recalls in this monologue how he smiled and laughed at his attackers. The unwillingness to give up his body and pride was one of the most liberating moments a person could experience. It was, in essence, a moment of glorious re-birth in which someone else was born.

On this audition, the character paused, taking in the recollection of this incident.  

“So I get it ladies, childbirth hurts.”

That line brought the house down. There was laughter. All present felt a sense of relief that the character’s inner spirit persevered. The assistant director at this audition had a sister that was an actor. He asked if I could write her a monologue suitable to her on stage/screen persona. Actors, some of whom you’ve seen on screen, then came to me.  

Several things happened after my monologues took hold over the next four months. First, I had no desire to be on the stage, or perform before the camera again. It was too raw. I was too exposed. Second, I became the story teller, no longer dancing to another lyricists words.

As with these “books of great monologues,” I paged though these manuals of “how to write a screenplay.” They didn’t work for me. Not to say they are good, bad or anything in between. They just didn’t jive for me. They came off as technical and structured. My elders were masters of storytelling. My great-uncle Red Smoke stood tallest amongst them. But far too modest to even hint at being the best.

I’m not a “writer of screenplays” per se. It’s listening to outside voices and other forces that happen to take on the form of a screenplay. In its purist form it’s not you words, it’s someone else’s life energy that outlived their physical shell. I don’t know how or why some are chosen and others are not, but there does exist that channel of communication. And if you don’t feel that, no amount of explanation will penetrate.    

Anything can come out. Once the words are in pencil on the white, sometimes yellow legal paper, they are placed on the computer file. Print out that one exchange of dialogue. It can be one line. Then once it’s on paper, via the computer font, put it in your pocket and carry it around. Work, walk or play outside, sun or rain. Tend to your garden.

I love sitting in the office of the dentist or waiting in some other line. Take out that paper with the computer font, which obviously looks different than hand written words.

Make your edits on that paper. Then put it back on the computer file. I will re-write on the computer also. And then print it out again. Sometimes it’s a receipt from the produce market that gets some handwritten notes while just outside the store.

Hard copies are indispensable. Take 30 pages of your script and lay them out on the floor. Just let them sit before you like a row of toy soldiers. Page 17, for example, can lend a simple reference to page 28. Boom, there’s a callback on page 28 that went back just eleven pages back. Of course, if you have a cat, she’ll plant herself right on top of the page you’re studying. Dogs will enter and leave a mud print on the spot in which you’re making an important edit. Cats and dogs are glorious pranksters.

When you edit/re-write on the computer it “looks different.” It sparks something in my head, and reflects back at you differently. Conversely speaking a hard copy takes on a different look.

Allow spontaneity to take place. You’ll never know when you hand commands you to take out a piece of dialogue. You may find yourself mumbling in public reciting your dialogue while bumping into things because your eyes are looking inward. And if you end up in Bedlam, or Bethlem, just think of all the time you have to write.

Some of us that are considered crazy are just on a different realm of consciousness. You are just visiting another frequency of perception while sharing the same physical space with everyone else.  

It’s inside. For better or for worse. And the worse only translates into better when it’s crafted.

Don’t run from the hypocrisy and irony. Not everyone from a seemingly evil organization is trying to break you down and make you conform.

Not every person that claims to live in harmony with nature and speaks of ancient traditions is pure. Nobody is unclouded and if you give people a chance, they’ll prove your best and worst expectations right. We are all being tested for a reason. Sometimes it comes to us naturally, but sometimes we have to fight within ourselves to stay on the right path. A great Native Shaman once told a European visitor.

“There are two dogs living inside of me. One is savage, uncaring and selfish. The other is kind, loving and giving.”

When the European asked which dog was stronger, the Shaman replied, “Which ever one I feed the most.”

Early on I was enthralled by the greatest story teller I would ever know. He was the aforementioned Uncle Red Smoke. He was a great Uncle and my Great-Uncle. He gave me my Native Name since I was quiet, but a good listener. During Red Smoke’s stories that were just for me an attentive listener in the form of a bird would show up. Her jet-black feathers would shine, even when there wasn’t much light. When I’d ask Uncle Red Smoke who that bird was, he’d chuckle. It pissed me off then and still does. He never told me. I guess some questions really are best left unanswered.  

That’s when I became a writer. It just took a little while before it sank in. There was other assistance, as well.

In my other world a Catholic Nun, named Mother Mary Catherine would be tested often by me. She was the only nun in that large parish that had the name Mary in her moniker. Which in itself was a miracle. She took a liking to a boy just out of elementary school and listened to his stories.

Of course, I’d spend hours listening to her Holy Stories and they were riveting. And I thought the Native People had good stories about war, love and vengeance.

Often, I’d share my stories with Sister Mary Catherine. She was always entertained. She knew, somehow, that programming was not the right technique for all persons. She understood letting someone have genuine inner thoughts would only bring them closer to the notion “we are all our brother’s keeper.”

It’s fascinating how Red Smoke and Mary had virtually the same theme in their stories. More perplexing is how most people see them as adversaries. Maybe the raven will tell us someday.     

Sister Mary made me her unofficial assistant in the massive library which had the architectural features of a prison dining hall. But it didn’t matter. It was filled with infinite reading materials. That was my first time I read Shakespeare. One day a man, an important man with this school passed my tiny desk where I placed a hand written sign that said assistant librarian.

“A savage discovering The Bard of Avon. Hard to imagine anything more terrifying.” The way he said it, was so pleasant and soft spoken, it was meant as motivation. In that space I was permitted to believe every book and periodical was mine. The old man had cause to be terrified. I remember him with kindness.

I don’t see setbacks. And challenges are the lifeblood of growth. Never take critiques personally. Screenwriting, like music, paintings, sculptures and architecture is an incredibly subjective artform.

Some may intensely adore your humble efforts as they pertain to storytelling. Some may have a distain of equal intensity. They are both correct.

It doesn’t matter. Don’t try to figure it out.

A true professional will notice a well composed effort. Even if they don’t particularly appreciate every aspect of your work, they will see if time was put into the project.

Also, as somebody that has had the opportunity to be in publishing for years, don’t tax the readers’ patience with sloppy spelling and grammatical errors. It takes time to rid your work of typos. But it’s mandatory.

Some will not appreciate you going against the orthodoxy of a standard screenplay format; if you choose to do so. Some will say some of the text is for the director to decide, or not like a particular suggestion regarding a character’s motivation, if you also decide to do so. Don’t worry about that. It’s your story. When it’s produced let the director do her thing. At that point, trust someone else. Let go. But fix the spelling mistakes. And too many typos are a nuisance to the eyes.  

The human condition is universal. And kindred spirits are not limited to time, place, ethnic appearances, or any other number of superficial variables. Never be the bully. And once you beat those who kept you down, don’t turn into them. It’s an incredibly easy trap to fall into. Stand up for those who are seeking the righteous path.

Most are grossly offended by prejudice and the herd mentality. Not because it’s “politically correct,” but because it’s lazy and unimaginative. Bigots are boring people. They are in a state of self-destruction which could be fun to watch because it’s their cosmic karma. But still not worth your time. Then again, maybe they can be reached. Men and women can change. Not often, but sometimes.

Thanks to fate, good teachers and spiritual assistance from the living and those no longer of this realm, I’m now blessed not to be destructive to my physical shell and my Soul. My mind and spirit now allow me to find allies, friends, and divine spirits almost anywhere. That’s a gift from The Great Father.

It is constantly evolving.  You are so right.

In the coming century The Native American Person will appear considerably more in movies, TV and other forms of entertainment.

The Native American character in future stories will be portrayed as an individual first, and then an Indigenous Person.

Every form of entertainment today regarding Native Americans revolves around our daily lives as it pertains to “Native American struggles, Indigenous concerns and Indian issues.” In other words, we are a fixed stereotype first, individual second; inescapably linked to all matters dealing with concept of being Indigenous. 

REZ will eventually morph into a series, a comedy series, where after a half dozen episodes the four major characters of Native roots are people first dealing with human issues. And naturally their backgrounds as Indigenous Persons will come into play, but won’t be the main focus.

Native American humor will be an occurring part of this Indigenous enlightenment.

Outsiders have little idea of how many Native Persons have an amazing capacity for humor, both subtlety sarcastic and self-effacing. And we have fun with that. It is so easy to make someone not of our background feel uncomfortable with a little jab at ourselves. And when we tell them it’s OK to laugh it breaks the ice.

The exploration of that humor is inevitable. There are only so many premises out there. The world craves constantly changing perspectives. The next “big new thing” might as well be from a people that have been walking North America for the last 15 Millenia. We are destined to catch on. Even if it’s just another 100 years. That’s a blink of the eye for The Great Father, Mother Earth and all the spirit animals as Uncle Red Smoke said. Sister Mary Catherine of course, had her Holy Trinity. Wonder how different they really are?

It’s engrained. There is much else going on.